Broken Juliet

BROKEN JULIET

ALSO BY LEISA RAYVEN

Bad Romeo

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

BROKEN JULIET.
Copyright © 2015 by Leisa Rayven. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-1-250-06419-6 (trade paperback)

ISBN 978-1-4668-6946-2 (e-book)

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First Edition: April 2015

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Dedication TK

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

TK

“When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

—Juliet, describing Romeo William Shakespeare,
Romeo and Juliet

BROKEN JULIET

ONE

BEAUTIFUL REPAIR

Present Day

New York City, New York

The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor

In Japan, they have something called
Kintsugi
—the art of repairing precious pottery with gold. The result is a piece that has obviously been broken, but is more beautiful for it.

It’s a concept that has always fascinated me.

So often, people try to hide their scars. As if the slightest damage proves how weak they are. They equate scars with mistakes, and those mistakes with shame. Perfection forever marred.

Kintsugi
does the opposite. It says, “There is beauty born from tragedy. Look at these precious fault lines of experience.”

As I stand in my hallway, staring at the front door that reverberates with my former lover’s knocks, it occurs to me that even though
Kintsugi
is a noble concept, it doesn’t change the truth that once something is broken, it can never be anything else. Beautiful repair, no matter how elegant, doesn’t make it whole again. It’s still just a collection of pieces impersonating its former shape.

Judging from his soul-baring e-mail this morning, which included an epic declaration of love, I believe Ethan wants to repair me. Ironic, considering he was the one who broke me in the first place.

I know you think I left because I didn’t love you, but you’re wrong. I’ve always loved you, from the moment I first laid eyes on you.

I’d spent so long believing I got what I deserved when people left me, that I didn’t stop to think I got what I deserved when I met you. I couldn’t comprehend that if I stopped being an enormous insecure jackass for five minutes, that maybe … just maybe … I could keep you.

I want to keep you, Cassie.

You need me as much as I need you. We’re both hollow without the other, and it’s taken me a long time to realize that.

There’s the knocking again, this time louder. I know I have to answer it.

He’s right. I am hollow without him. I always have been. But what do I have to offer other than a shell of the woman he fell in love with?

Don’t be as stupid as I was and let the insecurities win. Let
us
win. Because I know you think loving me again is a crapshoot and that your odds are grim, but let me tell you something: I’m a sure thing. I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.

It’s possible for him to love me and still leave me. He’s proven that time and again.

Am I still terrified of you hurting me? Of course. Probably the same way you’re terrified I’ll hurt you.

But I’m brave enough to know it’s absolutely worth the risk.

Let me help you be brave.

Brave
is a word I haven’t used to describe myself for a long time.

My phone buzzes with a message.

Excitement and fear crawl up my spine, racing to see which one can paralyze my brain first.

When I’d finished reading his e-mail, I needed to see him. But now that he’s here, I have no idea what to do.

As I walk down the hallway, I feel like I’m dreaming. Like the past three years have been a nightmare and I’m about to wake up. Everything feels slow. Important.

When I reach the door, I tighten my robe and exhale in an effort to calm my nerves. Then, with a shaky hand, I pull it open.

I make myself breathe as the door swings open to reveal Ethan, phone in hand. So handsome but tired. Nervous. Looking almost as nervous as I feel.

“Hey.” He says it softly. Like he’s afraid I’m going to chase him away.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“How? I mean, I just texted you. Were you already here?”

“Uh … yeah. I’ve … well, I’ve been here for a while. After I e-mailed you, I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about things. You.” He looks down at the phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I wanted to be near you, just in case you…” He smiles and shakes his head. “I wanted to be here. Close.”

His jacket is on the ground, crumpled next to a cardboard coffee cup.

“Ethan, how long have you been out here?”

“I told you, a whi—”

“How long, exactly?”

His small smile masks something deeper. Something desperate.

“A few hours, but in a way…” He looks at his feet and shakes his head again. “I kind of feel like I’ve been waiting out here for three years, just trying to find the courage to knock on the door. I guess that e-mail was my way of doing it.”

When he glances up again, for the first time in a long while, I see fear in his eyes. “The real question is, are you going to let me in?”

I notice how I’m gripping the doorjamb with my right hand, while holding the door with my left. My whole body blocks the entrance. It’s like everything I am is subconsciously standing in his way.

He leans forward slowly, being so careful. “You read my e-mail, right?”

Right away, the space between us feels very small.

“Yes.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, expression wary. “And? Did it help?”

I don’t know what to say. Does he expect some sort of declaration from me? Something to match his thousand ‘I love yous’?

“Ethan, that e-mail was … amazing.”

Apparently that’s all he wants to hear, because his face lights up.

“You liked it?”

“I loved it.” My throat tightens around the “L” word
.
“Did you really type out the … those phrases … individually?”

“Yes.”

“How long did it take?”

“I didn’t keep track of time. I just needed you to know. I still need for you to know.”

I grip the door tighter.

I know we shouldn’t be having this discussion in my hallway, but if I let Ethan in, he’ll touch me, and then whatever fragile strength I have left will shatter.

“So … where do we go from here?” He moves forward. “I mean, I know what I want.” So close, his feet almost touch mine. “I think I’ve made myself pretty clear. But what about you?”

I tense because of his proximity.

This man represents so many things to me. He was my first true friend. My first love. First lover. The master of more pleasure than I knew existed, and the architect of more heartache than I thought I could endure.

It seems almost impossible to translate all of those men into the one he wants to be. The one who just wants to be a single thing to me.

Mine.

“Cassie…” He touches my hand, then traces down my wrist and over my forearm There’s an explosion of goosebumps left in his wake. “What do you want?”

I want him. Can’t want him. Need him. Hate needing him.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“I do,” he says, leaning forward. “Invite me in. I promise, I’m here to stay this time.”

TWO

DESPISED VULNERABILITY

Six Years Earlier

Westchester County, New York

The Grove

When I wake, I stretch, and it takes me a moment to realize why I’m sore. Then I remember.

I had sex. Incredibly passionate, muscle-trembling sexual intercourse. With Ethan.

I smile.

Ethan Holt took my virginity.

Oh, Lord, how he felt. All around me and inside.

Scenes from last night come flooding back and make the ache transform into tingles.

Surely I’ll look different now. I feel different. Wonderful. Like a whole new world of experience has been opened up to me, and I can’t wait to explore it.

With him.

As I sigh in contentment, I reach over to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.

I open my eyes. “Ethan?”

I get up and check the rest of the apartment. Empty.

I go back and sit on my bed. The sheets are crumpled and still smell like him.

I check my phone. No messages. I look under the bed to make sure that a touching love note/apology hasn’t slipped under there.

Nothing.

Great.

I’m pretty certain when a man leaves your bed in the middle of the night, it’s not a good sign.

Later that morning, I jiggle my knees as I wait for our Advanced Acting class to begin.

Holt’s late. He’s never late.

I still can’t believe he just left. I mean, if you sleep with a girl for the first time, you at least send her a text, right? If not an actual phone call to say, “Hey, thanks for letting me deflower you. It was rad.”

I know that being open is a struggle for him, but doesn’t he realize he’s not the only one who needs reassurance?

Erika sweeps into the room, and I try to put Ethan from my mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back. I trust you all had a refreshing Thanksgiving break.” Everyone murmurs something vaguely positive, and she smiles. “Good, because for the next few weeks, I’m going to push you harder than ever before. This term we’ll be working with masks, which is one of the most challenging and ancient art forms within the theater.”

The door opens, and Erika frowns as Holt walks in and sits down. He looks tired.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Holt.”

He nods. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Can I get you anything? A watch, perhaps?”

He looks down at his hands. “Sorry I’m late.”

She gives him a pointed look. “As I was saying, mask work is difficult and requires the actor to be completely honest and open. It’s not an art form that forgives emotional blocks or insecurities. Be prepared for some brutal self-examination.”

Holt glances at me and gives me a tight smile before he turns away.

Erika goes to her desk and collects a large box filled with masks. She spreads them out on the floor.

“These masks exhibit specific emotional traits. I’d like you all to take a few minutes and choose one that appeals to you.”

Everyone goes over to the masks. As they talk and laugh among themselves, Ethan stands at the back, waiting for the crowd to subside. I go and stand beside him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He barely looks at me.

“You bailed on me this morning.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and the muscles tighten in his jaw. “Are you … upset with me? About what happened? I mean, I know you said we should wait, and I pushed you to do it anyway, but—”

“No.” He shrugs. “I’m not upset with you. I was just … I had stuff to do and I didn’t want to wake you. Everything’s fine.”

His words are reassuring, but they don’t make me feel any better. “So, you … enjoyed it then? Me? What we did?”

He drops his head, and I see the hint of a smile as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Cassie, only you would want to discuss sex in the middle of acting class. Can we please talk about this later, when we’re not in a room full of people?”